The Beginning of the Ghost
by SammieAtHome
Summary: Calling me a Ghost was probably harsh. Trying to be a shadow in a world where light is an illusion can do that to you. In the end, reasons beyond your comprehension were my guide.
1. LB

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.

A.N.: This is going to be an attempt at interconnecting certain events that occurred throughout Bones history that at first glance have nothing to do with each other.

This chapter is from the POV of a Ghost and we'll be travelling to the past. Future chapters will take us forward into familiar scenes.

You could think of this character as my own take on the Ghost Killer. But she won't be who they said in cannon.

Her part in Booth and Brennan's lives is bigger than you may think. Or is it?

* * *

_**Year Unknown**_

_There is a reason why you shouldn't judge a person at first glance. Sometimes what you see, may not be what's actually happening. But then, how can you trust your own eyes? You can't. The senses can be tricked or lead into thinking the opposite of reality._

_This probably means I love illusions. _

_You should also bear in mind I'm not a saint nor a martyr. I'm human, even if sometimes what people see is not the actions of one._

* * *

_**April 1995**_

The one feeling I regret, is regret itself. It means there's something that could be avoided, but happened anyway. I'd love to go by the motto of "Don't make excuses, avoid them."

If only life worked like that.

Never knew what happened for everything to turn out the way it did. Or maybe I do.

I really just wanted people to leave me alone. Let me be me and let me work on what I loved to do. Of course, understanding what I wanted to do wasn't easy in a world where everything must have a purpose. And that purpose was money.

My father gave me only one piece of advice in his whole life. He didn't exactly set an example of proper conduct. Well, maybe he did. I learned that mistakes get you killed. As well as double-crossing the hand that feeds you. _That_ will also get a few nails ripped off. Apparently taking thumbs was getting boring.

I was not careful enough. After watching the bad associations my family made, I unintentionally made the one that could be translated into leverage.

Still remember the peaceful days when sitting by the pier was a treasured moment, as it allowed my favorite past-time: people watching.

At first, it was for curiosity's sake, but soon turned out a way to satiate the hunger for something beyond what I had. Letting your mind wander and forget what surrounds you.

I could focus on the way people lived day after day, appreciating life's simplest pleasures.

My favorite spot was the marina. The freedom the sea brought was fascinating, so it was only normal I'd end up stumbling upon her. There were days I just watched her work on her boat.

The determination you could see in those eyes was riveting. But what I craved was the apparent openness. Be yourself even when others don't actually see you. Which was a strange feeling to have, since all I ever worked for was to be invisible.

I had worked hard to blend in and let people think they had me figured out. Not sure when that started. Guess it was always there.

Maybe the mistake I made that day was thinking I could blend in by letting her close. After all, being a recluse was not a good option when also trying to maintain the right social connections.

Don't think friendship was the goal. At least not mine. It's true I went more often than I should to the marina. True that I let myself be more obvious with my admiration. But it was hard to let go of the envy. I admired her as well as envied the nature of her freedom. Her willingness to fight for set goals.

After tricking the devil, I should have known the littlest thing would come back to haunt me. Money, high placed connections and costly interests were my father's daily events.

Someone thought I was too curious. In the beginning, I could tell they thought I was going to tell-tale on them. Of course not. That wouldn't serve my purposes.

I was aiming higher.

However, my interest on their activities spiked theirs on mine. And finding leverage was also their own hobby. I made the mistake of forgetting that detail.

The tinniest attachment is dangerous when trying to appear invisible. If others notice, it's even more dangerous.

And they liked leaving messages.

Messages that said they were watching. Messages that said they could do whatever they wanted when higher interests were in play. Messages showed everyone is pawn.

I surprised myself with the emotions that assaulted me when _it _happened. There were none.

A pawn is worthless. I has no meaning in itself. It merely plays a part in the game's strategy.

My first message was named _Lana Brewster._

* * *

_**A few months earlier**_

Poker nights were my favorite. It gave me an excuse to watch my father and his friends openly. The quiet juggle of chips and cards played a good contrast with the emotions they were trying to hide so thoroughly.

It was on one of these nights that I realized my father was a master at lying. Even when he had everything to lose, he played like he was winning. Apparently that also applied to his business deals.

Sometimes they occurred at the same time.

Drinking and playing cards seemed to loosen their tongues. So staying in a quiet corner of the house, apparently preparing for college final exams, was not a coincidence.

But that night, I could tell something was amiss.

Mr. No-Name had joined the game with my father and McNamara Senior. A heavy silence was broken by a shift in the chair, a chip falling to the floor. When these three gathered, you could always tell who was in charge.

It wasn't my conniving liar of a father, or even the cold heartless McNamara. Mr. No-Name ran the show.

He had the air of someone used to be in charge. If I were to take a bet, he worked in a strategically placed position. FBI, CIA, NSA. Take your pick.

Which is why listening in, on these particular nights, always brought _interesting_ information.

Often mere details, but valuable ones, on business deals involving their companies. _Kestech Transpo Corporation_ was a key player in moving whatever goods gave them the money and influence to be who they were now.

So when McNamara Junior decided to get sloppy, and draw attention to himself. No one was happy.

Whispers of "_something must be done" _and _"I'll handle this" _caught my attention. I prided myself on being a master at manipulation, whereas my father was at lying, or so he thought.

So when I almost gave my game away, I was not very happy. I thought no one ever paid attention to a quiet and invisible girl.

That's where I made my first and, (what I thought at the time), my last mistake.

Mr. No-Name as I called him, was a clever and observing person. He was the first to rise from the table. The others staying behind.

Still remember his quiet footsteps as he walked along the corridor towards the front door. The calculating and almost timed footsteps that suddenly stopped in from of the room I was staying in. The room with the perfect acoustic in relation to the rest of the house.

He just stood there. One hand in his pocket, the other smoothing the already perfectly straight tie. The serious look he always carried was then broken by a smile. At first he said nothing. And I, playing the game of the innocent, just stared, faking a startle.

He just continued smiling as he whispered: "You know, child. You may have a future if you stay out of people's affairs. Your father thinks he knows you. But you don't fool me. I can see it in your eyes."

That was the day I started realizing playing the invisible game wasn't working as well as I thought. A game of tag was in order. Or better yet, a change of scenery.

The life of the wanderer was beginning to sound appealing. But before my plans were set in motion, messages were starting to come months later.

Lana Brewster's body was found.

McNamara was shipped to Switzerland.

Poker games stopped. It seemed Mr. No-Name had played a full house.

As I think about it now, it's interesting to realize that my first killing was sadly not by my own hands, but my fault.

But then, inspiration has to come from somewhere.


	2. CH

_**A.N.: To understand some of what happens here, you should have some knowledge of Season 9 and the "mythology" of the Ghost Killer, like people (victims and others) that surround it.**_

_**As I said before, things will be different in some **__**small ways**__** from cannon. Some characters will be connected in ways you didn't realize they could. Rest easy that our beloved characters will make an appearance. Just not in the way you think.**_

* * *

_**Year Unknown**_

_I really did have the best of intentions. Of course, killing wasn't the best way to show it._

_When revenge blinds you, it's difficult to see the righteous path._

_But in the beginning the reason behind the actions was protection._

_My own._

* * *

_**1998**_

Some people might say the tendency to commit a crime is born with you. I say it evolves. It grows inside you. Sometimes all it needs is an incentive and a silenced conscience.

My interests always lay in the research area. Either in life, in biology or in experiments. I might have been confused in early stages of my life, but when someone gives you an incentive... You find you own objective. Mine was revenge.

For the moment.

Since my job entailed a lot of travelling, it was only fair that I take the most of it and apply some time to secondary hobbies.

I only wanted revenge. Of course, my meaning may not be the same as everyone else's. Having coming to terms that higher powers and interests were at play, I decided to focus on my own little game.

Some paws made wonderful messages.

These messages would take its time. But thankfully, patience was something I had in abundance.

I liked waiting. When you want to play your cards right, besides mastering the art of bluffing, you should also work on your gameplay.

Which is why I had been coming to Maryland City Park. Opportunity was the key. Many may arise but you should know when to take the right one.

The fresh air of nature mixed with the sound of children running around and playing. The park's trees were shaking from a sudden breeze. Laughter filled the air as a couple walked by.

A young woman sat in the bench next to mine. Painting. Her features hidden by her hair.

But my focus was on a shop across the street. Or rather, a travel agency.

It had played a prominent role in my itinerary as soon as I found out who worked there. However, the person who visited its space was the one I was particularly interested in.

Her fate would be dealt with at a later time. Like I said. Patience is a virtue.

Of course, the man currently shadowing her was not someone you wanted to deal with. Even if he was a pawn himself. His face familiar, from the time he accompanied Mr. No-Name to my father's house. Back then he had been dressed as if on official business.

That is when I discovered where Mr. No-Name's supposed allegiances lay. FBI.

Today, he's dressed like he's undercover. The stance of a cop betrays him from time to time. His focus is the same as mine. The client across the street.

As I looked back, I could see the owner of the travel agency focused on the computer. Exotic travel locations lined the wall behind her. She seemed to have forgotten the person standing in front of her. The client.

Another woman. A doctor. A medical examiner.

They were obviously friends by the way they interacted. The familiar way in which they seem to be addressing each other was built from years of friendship.

Reason why the latter was here. Some people don't learn that asking for favors are not good for your health. Or doing them.

Nevertheless, when you're trying to escape and are being watched by people above your pay grade, resources are limited. So you tend to seek help closer to home. Mistakes are made.

Her legs were shaking from time to time. Her hands twisting in her lab coat. The client was obviously nervous.

I had been following her for the last few years, tracing her footsteps wherever she went. She didn't make it easy. Apparently I wasn't the only one following her. That tends to happen when you mix with the wrong crowd.

When you do a favor to someone, you should never forget the implications. You are compromising yourself. You may lead yourself to believe you have that person in your hand, but don't forget you are the one getting your hands dirty.

It was just my luck the building she worked on had a sudden vacancy in the molecular biology department. Hospital gossip carried to neighboring buildings. Everyone knew of everyone's lives.

But I knew _her _secret. Hiding a murder is not something you take lightly.

As my mind wandered, the doctor left the agency. A travel bag already in one hand and grasping what appeared to be a plane ticket in the other. Only problem was that the woman's real name wasn't on it_. Leslie Dallinger. _

Inside the travel agency, the owner, a petite and beautiful woman, seemed troubled. As someone who had just done something she _knew_ she shouldn't. As she stood to leave the office, I stood from the bench I'd been sitting on.

A meeting was about to take place.

My concentration momentarily vanished when I passed the young girl, almost my age that had been sitting on the bench beside me. Dark brown hair framed her mixed Asian features.

She was fixated on a canvas in front of her. Painting the previous couple who was no longer laughing but having a whispered conversation. In a tone only lovers can achieve.

The appraisal had to wait. The man in the shadows was gone.

I quickly crossed the street, leaving the park, hurrying my steps on purpose.

I could see the woman had already closed the agency. Her steps also hurrying from the other direction. Simulating I was in a hurry wasn't hard.

Even easier to _distractively_ bump into her, just as my left hand lightly grasped hers.

"I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching were I was going. I'm late for work."

So distracted by her own hurry, she never noticed her name tag had fallen to the ground.

"That's okay. I wasn't looking either." And off she went.

But she wouldn't go far.

Watching her walk away I put the syringe I was holding back into my pocket.

Her name tag lay at my feet.

It spelled _Carla Hopkins. _

I do like when pawns walk a path you planned and don't even know it. Some pawns sadly didn't have much time. Some people would say life is short.

I think I might need a new change of scenery. My next destination: Costa Rica.

Some pawns aren't allowed to escape.


End file.
